Sometimes, I truly believe that the small things in life act as a metaphor for the bigger issues. In my case, for the past ten days or so, my fate seems to have been dictated by a Christmas pudding. It all started when I declared, with no uncertainty, that we would once again be embracing [click here to read more]
Oh, yes I did!
I am usually never more than 30cm from my iPad – it is like my entire world in an Orla Kiely case. Except, that same iPad is now in a bag of dried rice in my airing cupboard.
How did it happen?
1. Pile washing into a basket and pop iPad on top so you don’t drop it when coming downstairs.
2. Pick up daughter’s school shirts on way down and place on top.
3. Load washing into the machine.
4. Put out recycling.
5. Re-enter kitchen.
6. Wonder what the banging sound is in the washing machine.
7. Swear loudly.
8. Google what to do and realise you’re not the only one…
Thing is, I can’t claim on insurance because (a) my husband dropped his in the garden last week and smashed it to buggery and claimed and (b) the excess is £200 and I may as well buy a new iPad and save the inflated premiums, which will cover its cost anyway. Which is what I’ve done, because I am not hopeful for my poor iPad. I can’t turn it off and (apparently), this is essential as it is the short-circuiting that well and truly buggers it up. So, perhaps, wiping it while it was still flickering with life (yes, it WAS still working when I retrieved it from the suds) was not the best thing to do.
I peeped at it tonight and it is lifeless. The light has gone from its watermarked screen and it is, in effect, an ex-iPad.
I pick up the new one tomorrow.